


I Ain't Nothing But A Straw Man

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [31]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: After Tony experiences a failed mission he goes back to some of his old coping mechanisms. Stephen does what he can.*Mind the tags. If any give you pause do not read.





	I Ain't Nothing But A Straw Man

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ: I have never experienced a panic attack or have helped someone to deal with one, especially with the toxic combination of alcohol. I hope not to offend anyone who has and do not want this to ever be considered an authority on what to do or how to act. This was simply a dynamic I was interested in exploring considering the canon of Tony's trauma. Insight is always welcomed.

   Stephen was awoken by a sudden crashing sound and the distinct shattering associated with glass. His eyes flew open and he stared into the darkness for a moment, body tense and frozen, assessing whether it was remnant from his dreams or had happened in real life. The unfamiliar surroundings didn’t help, he was in Tony’s bedroom at the penthouse and a quick glance at the bed next to him showed it empty of his lover.

   He slowly slid a hand into the indent to find it cool to the touch. Another bang made him bolt upright, heart hammering as he swung himself out of bed. The Cloak hovered next to him as he made his way to the door and out into the hallway. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he knew, half asleep and running on the paranoid adrenalin that plagued him as a Sorcerer.

   He realized a light was on, coming from the main room. As he approached there came a muffled voice, sounding both irritated and angry. Stephen frowned, recognizing it as Tony and quickly making his way into the room. He froze at what he saw there, mind spinning with incomprehension for a moment.

   Tony was slumped against the front of the bar, stools were knocked over and scattered about, in his hand was a large bottle of whisky, held secure in an iron grip. As Stephen watched he took a hearty swig of it, kicked at one of the stools, his eyes lazily watching it shove into one of the side tables.

   Stephen dared to step closer, realized he was surrounded by shattered glass, little trickles of blood were flowing from his arm and his face was twisted into a grimace. It explained all the noise, and horribly enough finding Tony like this explained so much more. He had been reserved, even solemn this evening after a difficult mission in which a school had been in the target zone. Not all the kids had made it. Still, he had never seen Tony like this, had never seen him nearly this drunk no matter the popular stories his friends liked to tell.

   Swallowing thickly Stephen went closer. “Tony?”

   His eyes snapped to his. For a moment they seemed to soften in recognition, but then quick as a switch they hardened into something hateful and angry.

   “Leave me alone.” He spat. A thin string of saliva dribbled down his chin, his hand flexed into a fist. “Get the fuck out.”

   Stephen didn’t bother mentioning that he had only moved in last week, or that before they went to bed Tony had whispered about how grateful he was Stephen was there. No, of course he didn’t because as he stared at Tony, he recognised the signs in an instant, knew the man too well by now.

   His hand was shaking, the one curled into a fist, the same one he always held during a panic attack, his breath was harsh and getting worse, his eyes were red, and he was beginning to tremble. He was also very much not yet drunk, not even having downed a quarter of the previously unopened bottle if the cap was anything to go by. This behaviour, Stephen knew, was carefully designed to scare him away, to push him back when he was feeling so incredibly vulnerable. It absolutely fucking tore his heart to shreds.

   Realizing Tony still had his wits about him for the moment, Stephen creeped closer, ignored the angry shout of the man until he could kneel right outside the zone of shattered glass. No matter how bad Tony’s attacks were he had never laid a hand on Stephen, but he wasn’t about to get close enough to give the chance right now.

   “I’m not leaving.” He said it precisely, clearly.

   “I don’t want you here.” He growled.

   Stephen swallowed again, forced himself to remain calm. “I know and I’m sorry. But you are not being left alone right now. I can even call someone else if you want.”

   Tony’s expression turned unexpectedly bitter as he looked at him. He took another swig from the bottle, eyes hard. “Like who? Rhodey? Pepper? What about Peter? I bet he would love to see his _hero_ now.”

   Stephen resisted the urge to contradict him, knew it would only make him spiral further, give him something to resist against and yell expletives at. He tried a different tactic, “It wasn’t your fault.”

   Tony sneered. “How _kind,_ how _gracious_ of you. The great Stephen Strange who’s never had to watch a bunch of fucking school children _die_ because he was too _slow_.”

   Stephen bit the side of his cheek harshly, valiantly battled back the angry words that rose in him pointing out the he _had_ watched children die, even before becoming a Sorcerer with his own two hands controlling their fate.

   Tony suddenly let out a harsh laugh, not at all amused as he glared at Stephen, “You should have been there, but where were you again? Oh yeah, hanging out in some other dimension taking notes like a good little _apprentice_ for Wong.”

   “You aren’t going to make me angry or convince me to leave. All you are doing is making you hate yourself in the morning.”

   Tony drank from the bottle again, Stephen wished he could just pop it out of existence, but he knew it could be a disastrous move. Instead he shifted from kneeling to sitting, preparing to get himself comfortable and placed his gaze on Tony, unwavering.

   For a moment Tony met his stare with his own glare, furious and hurt in equal measures. Then all too soon Stephen watched as he began to crumble, twisted his fingers in his pajama bottoms to keep himself from reaching out to his lover, knew he needed to wait for Tony to come to him.

   His grip slackened on the bottle suddenly, setting it on the floor and his hands were thrown over his eyes as he hunched inwards. Muffled behind them came a harsh sob, helplessness twisted in Stephen gut. Tony’s body began to shake, broken little cries as he fought for control of himself.

   Stephen stayed where he was, whispered encouraging words, telling him he would be all right, reminding him to breath.

   “I killed them Stephen, their dead because of me. I still see their blank faced, their eyes were _empty.”_ He heaved a little and Stephen was back to his knees.

   “Look at me Tony.” He hardened his voice into a command. “Now Tony, look at me, see me not them.”

   Reluctantly he dropped his hands, lifted his head a little to reveal a red tear-steaked expression so lost and agonized that it made Stephen’s heart ache. Stephen ignored it and pushed ahead, locking eyes with his lover. “ _It wasn’t your fault_. There was nothing anyone could have done. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, and you are allowed to curse the fucking air you breath but not yourself. _It wasn’t you_.”

   There was a tense pause between them a charged air and suddenly Tony was launching himself at Stephen. There was the unmistakably crunch of glass making Stephen wince in sympathy, but it was quickly forgotten as Tony filled his arms, curling around him and sobbing into his neck with a desperation that was so uncharacteristic that Stephen found his own breath stuttering with the need to set him right, to help him.

   And so, he did the only thing he could. He sat there on the floor for the next three hours while Tony cried himself into unconsciousness curled up in his lap, whispered over and over again how it wasn’t his fault, how much he loved him, ran a comforting hand through his hair gently while mentally cataloguing the small array of unintentional injuries.

   Finally, as the sun began to rise Stephen glanced over at the Cloak who had been hovering nearby during the entire proceedings and nodded his head. It swept off toward the bedroom to retrieve Tony’s phone and deposit it in Stephen’s waiting hand. He needed to do what should have been done yesterday, contact Tony’s therapist and ask her for an emergency session.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. Please inform me if any tags should be added and take care of yourselves.


End file.
